


The Knight in Red

by jazzmedic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, During Canon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fanon, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmedic/pseuds/jazzmedic
Summary: Hans Arren is the Dalish Ambassador of the Inquisition, and when he's left behind at the Temple of Mythal, he grows desperate to know more about the ruins and their secrets.Desperate for his people, Hans goes to his last resort to query about the Temple and finds himself in the deepest dungeon of Skyhold, questioning and growing fond of the most villainous and intriguing shemlen he has ever met.





	1. The Prisoner

It was barely past dawn when the noise awoke the Dalish Ambassador. Cheers of victory and triumph echoed through Skyhold’s walls as the first of the Inquisition troops returned from the Temple of Mythal. Whoever had been left behind from the battle now crowded by the gates, singing the Inquisitor’s name in glory, rejoicing another victory against Corypheus. Hearing this, Hans rolled back over in his bed and attempted to fall back asleep, his mind only reading the cheers as mockery to his expense.

As the Dalish Ambassador, Hans was the first to hear when reports came of the Temple of Mythal being targeted by Corypheus, yet when the time came to make a stand against the corrupted magister, he was made to stay behind. Of course, he trusted the Inquisitor’s decision, as perhaps he would struggle to fight when in such a sacred place, as he would likely want to preserve the ruins and seek artefacts of the ancient Elvhen, whilst in the process compromising their goal. Yet he could not help feeling the distaste of not going. It almost felt as if he was doing his own kind a disservice by not fighting for it.

Once they left, he began to grow embarrassed for acting so petty towards the Herald, but when news returned from the battle, his rage only escalated. Messages that came back quickly claimed that majority of the Temple was destroyed, and the Elvhen artefact, ‘The Well of Sorrows’, was preserved by being given to the human advisor, Morrigan.

After reading this, he remembered storming down from Leliana’s office, resorting seething alone in his chambers to deal with the news. “_It should have been me,” _he would think. As the only elf with an interest in helping the Dalish’s cause, he had the right to preserve the artefact himself above all else. But, as he was left behind, he could not even protest the decision that was made.

The Inquisitor’s main squadron returned first, including Lady Adaar herself, her chosen companions, the war advisors and the thief witch herself. There were still many soldiers left to also return, some not for a while as they would be surveying for any of Corypheus’ army to bring back as prisoner. But, marking the Herald’s return and her victory, Hans knew there would be a great feast to applaud her.

He considered himself a friend to the Herald but decided against congratulating the Inquisitor on her victory that day, instead skipping celebrations at the stables, practicing his bow and arrow against a straw dummy.

-

Several weeks passed, and Hans was becoming restless with thoughts of the Temple of Mythal. Whilst still envious of Morrigan and her possessed knowledge, he was mostly desperate for information on the Temple before it was destroyed from the battle. He knew that there was ancient Elvhen lore hidden within the walls, but the reports he read and interviews he made provided little insight, and no one except for Morrigan herself knew about the Well of Sorrows prior to the battle. He was beginning to lose hope and was becoming exhausted from constantly chasing information. Hans decided, before giving up, he would pay a last visit to Commander Cullen in attempt to convince him to give one more in-depth report. He had little hope, as he suspected nothing more than another lecture from the man. Despite this, he mustered up the motivation to leave his desk and venture down to the Commander’s tower.

It was a warm day outside his room; the light of the sun poured through the glass windows in the hallways and cast long shadows against the staff scurrying about the castle. Hans paid them little mind as he wandered about the halls and cut through the library as he made his way across the castle to Cullen.

From the window in the library, he stops to stare down in quiet resentment at the Orlesian witch. He watches as she gawks in bewilderment as the Well whispers to her the great secrets of Elvhen kind, gifting her with a knowledge she could not possibly grasp the importance of and will undoubtably use only for her own benefit. He stays rooted there for a moment, wishing that he could force himself to cooperate with her for the sake of his research, but he knew he’d only get that patronising look from the woman. _Silly Dalish elf_, he imagines she’d think, _could not possibly grasp the wonders of the Ancient Elves, nothing but a mockery of their former glory_. With a sigh, he continued his walk.

Past the stairs, he exchanged a curt nod of respect with Solas before passing through to the bridge connecting to the tower. Approaching the tower door, Hans gave a small knock before entering “Commander, a word if you’re not preoccupied?”

Cullen sighed in frustration, “Arren, if this is about that bloody Temple again, I assure you I have given you all the reports and remains that we have gathered from the battlefield.”

Hans walked a few feet into the room and gazed up to the Commander; he looked exhausted and avoided eye contact with the elf, keeping himself alert by pacing the length of his desk. The past few days has been a rush as the entire Inquisition prepared for the final battle against Corypheus, and it clearly was taking its toll on the former Templar.

“I know I have asked you before, but I need to know more about the artefacts within the Temple. You know anything recovered could help my people greatly.”

“I know, Arren,” the Commander snapped back, stopping and scolding down at the man. “You’ve explained this to me many times. But I’m not risking any of my soldier’s lives by sending them back into those ruins.”

“I know but- “

“No, Arren,” he replied firmly, “This is not the time. We are getting so close to this final battle against that… Monster. We can’t afford to send any soldiers on... On a_ fool’s_ errand!”

Hans furrowed his brow, swallowing his anger, “What about all the _errands_ your soldiers run concerning Josephine’s politics? Or Leliana’s marks across Thedas? How are they any different to what I ask of you?”

He was met with a cold glare from the Commander, “Because, those errands actually _benefit_ the Inquisition. Helping Orlesian nobles and disposing of important enemies give us the influence we need. The Dalish, whilst a useful asset, are not nearly as important as allies such as Orlais.”

“What are you saying, Commander? That my job here is useless? That my _people_ are pointless?” Hans questioned, quickly beginning to lose his professional temperament with Cullen.

“I am simply saying, Ambassador, that- “

A loud knock on the side door cut them short, and a scout entered with a parchment message. He was visibly out of breath. “Commander, ser! An urgent message from the scouts in the Dales!”

“What is it?”

“Ser, Commander Samson has been located and apprehended in the Dales, and it now being transported back to Skyhold for judgement, ser.”

Hans watched as the Commander suddenly breathed a sigh of relief, holding back a grin of triumph. “Thank you, glad they finally tracked him down. That will be all.” he dismissed the scout with a wave.

“Good news?” Hans queried.

“Very,” Cullen replied, “Been looking for him since the battle ended at the Temple. This means Corypheus has lost his army’s leader.” Finally, the Commander sat down at his desk, visibly relaxing in his chair and exhaling a breath that looked to have been held for weeks. “This is… Fantastic news.”

After that, their conversation never continued. Cullen suddenly became scarce after the news of the prisoner, and Hans no longer had the energy to chase the man further on his request. But, was surprised to see such a personal reaction from the Commander regarding an enemy.

From the moment he heard it, the Ambassador recognised Samson’s name on the messenger’s tongue. He had his interest and Hans dived straight into research on the man, rereading all reports on the Temple, hunting for any mentions of Samson’s name and his involvement before the trial. After a few skims, he realised why he recognised this man’s name.

_‘Samson proclaimed to be the ‘Vessel’ for the Well of Sorrows. What we suspect this means is that originally, Samson would have taken the knowledge of the Well, and used it at Corypheus’ request.’_

_The Vessel_. The phrase rattled in Hans head over and over. Samson had the same role that Morrigan adopted during the battle, and instead of Samson aiding Corypheus with the Well’s secrets, instead Morrigan is using it for the Inquisition’s gain. But, whilst they had the same role, something was entirely different about Samson and his ‘proclaimed’ role in the battle.

Frantically, Hans searched through countless more reports, before settling on a short statement from of the Herald’s companions, handwriting recognisable as belonging to Solas.

_‘No one within the party knew of the Well of Sorrows until it was mentioned by the enemy. The Witch appeared to have some prior knowledge, and perhaps suspected it was at the Temple, but no one knew of the Well and its significance in Corypheus’ plan except for him and his Vessel.’_

“His Vessel,” Hans repeated in a whisper, his fingertips tracing the dry ink on the page. He knew that the Inquisition appeared to have no prior knowledge of the Well being at the Temple, or even the existence of the artefact in the first place; but, this Vessel, he knew something about it that the Inquisition did not.

Samson was the one he needed to talk to.

-

Haven’s Rest was bustling with life when Hans entered, making him wonder if they were even aware of the likely hardship of the days to come. After taking his drink from the barkeep, he took his seat nearest the back, nursing his tasteless ale in one hand as he tried to distance his mind from work. Not many people that were here today he could recognise but could hear a few familiar voices such as Varric’s storytelling and Iron Bull’s booming laughter. As he downed more of his drink, the sounds of the tavern began to meld into white noise, the only prominent noise now being the sweet voice of the bard as she sang her songs of legends and tragedy.

Suddenly, a certain name pierced his drums, breaking through the tavern’s background noise.

“C’mon, Sparkles! Everyone knows Samson was from Kirkwall originally.” Hans heard Varric claim loudly from across the room. As he listened in, Varric’s comment piqued his curiosity and soon enough, he began edging his seat over to the table the dwarf sat at.

“Well, that explains slightly why he’s like that then,” Dorian added with a chortle, soon grimacing as he took a sip of his watered-down wine.

Varric chuckled back at the mage, “You got me there, Sparkles. But it’s true that he was from Kirkwall, also was originally a Templar like Curly.”

“He was a Templar?” Hans intruded, startling himself as the entire table flinched from his sudden presence.

“Originally he was,” Varric corrected, “Probably got booted out for his lyrium addiction, he ended up begging on the streets in Lowtown. Which was where I met him.”

Hans frowned; _this was the same man who lead Corypheus’ army? _He thought to himself.

“Makes you wonder what happened that lead him to Corypheus’ side,” Dorian wondered aloud, asking Hans’ internal question.

“That’s the part I don’t get.” Varric said, a hint of pity in his voice, “I suppose his resentment towards the order helped him rally what was left of the Templars. He was a broken man, and with the Order also broken I suppose they could relate to him.”

“That or a promise of endless lyrium perhaps. As an addict, bet that gave him plenty motivation.” Dorian added.

Varric hummed in agreement, unusually quiet in thought.

Hans leant forwards toward the dwarf, “Did you meet him then? Before he was with Corypheus?”

“Yeah I did,” Varric started, “He wasn’t the nicest man you’ve ever met, but assure you he was no where near the worst person in Lowtown.”

“What was he like?”

“Well, Hawke and I met him when a young apostate went missing. And with the Templar tension in Kirkwall, we wanted to help him before the Templars got there.” Varric began, taking a pause as he took a gulp from his drink, “Samson helped us find him, he took in lost mages and apostates and protected them from the Order.” Another pause, “He _cared_ about them.”

“He _supported_ the mages?” Hans sounded sceptical, “I thought the Templar’s hated mages? Or at least most of them do.”

Dorian laughed at the elf’s comment, taking the last swig of his drink when he calmed down, “Careful with bold claims like that, Ambassador. But, you’re not entirely wrong.”

“Maybe that’s why they kicked him out of the order. Afterall, Kirkwall Templars were also famous for their tension with the mages. Maybe he couldn’t stand treated mages the way he did.”

“You think so?”

“Ghil, I don’t think anyone really knows except for Samson himself.”

Then, the dwarf turned away, quickly changing the subject a different exaggerated story of his past. The table laughed and applauded along as Hans swallowed the feeling of unease rising in his throat.

Later that evening, in the dead of the night, the last of the Dales’ scouts returned to Skyhold, along with their _special_ bounty. Hans was awake when they came and peered out of his window to watch the shapes of men taking the prisoner below the castle to the dungeons. The man was only a shape in the darkness, but you could still tell he was heavily chained and still dressed in full armour. Whilst the elf was far away from the events below, there appeared to be no complaints from the man as he was dragged down the steps, as no sounds pierced the night except for the chains rattling between his wrists.

He watched intensely until the group disappeared down the staircase, before the light of their lanterns disappeared from the courtyard. As everything fell silence once again, Hans turned back over and collapsed into the bed sheets.

Tomorrow would be the trial, and hopefully with it, there will be answers.


	2. The Judged

The judgement of General Samson was arranged to be the morning after his arrival, and from what could be seen, nearly the entirety of the Inquisition was attending. Whispers were already floating about the castle about the importance of that morning’s trial, how even Commander Cullen would be attending as well as taking charge of it in Ambassador Josephine’s place.

When Hans left his chambers to attend, the grand hall was already bustling with people, both nobility and common folk, all awaiting the anticipated judgement of the General. Hans managed slide in a few rows behind the front before the trial begun, lucky to have a good view of the Inquisitor’s throne and the steps before it.

Inquisitor Adaar was the first to arrive, with Cullen hot on her heel behind her. They marched silently down the centre of the hall; the crowd parting before them out of respect before Adaar went to take her seat by the great stain-glassed window. Guards stood patiently either side of the seat, and next to them Cullen waited like a loyal old dog, various documents in his hands ready for the trial. With a wave of her hand, she signalled for the judgement to begin.

“Forgive me, Inquisitor. For personal interest, I have relieved Josephine. As you might expect.” Cullen said towards the Herald, bowing in thanks when she nodded in response. He quickly turned back to the guards by the entrance, signalling them to collect the judged with a curt nod.

“Knight-Templar Samson, General to Corypheus, traitor to the Order,” Cullen began, listing his offences with intensity in his voice, “The blood on his hands cannot be measured.”

Then, Hans heard the crowd gasp behind him as a rattling of chains echoed through the hall. With two guards by his side dragging him through the building, the now prisoner, Raleigh Samson, made his way slowly towards the Inquisitor. The man kept his face low but was still wore his infamous lyrium-laced armour, with a single crystal jutting out from the chest plate. The armour was clearly well-used; blood-groves decorated the metal and the leather cracked under his elbows and neck, and even though he wore no helmet, he kept his face away from the crowd, as all they could see was his long, hooked nose and thin, greased hair.

The guards released him before the steps, remaining close to his side in case he escaped. From where he was, Hans could hardly see the man’s face, only the mark of Kirkwall on his armour and his ragged brown hair, though could tell the man would make no attempt to free himself, his face lowered to the stare at the carpet beneath him.

Cullen took a pause as he stared down at the man, his brow furrowing in a sense of both pity and rage. “His head is too valuable to take,” he explained, “Kirkwall, Orlais: many would see him suffer. I can’t say I’m not one of them.”

“Judging him will affect as many as his crimes. I won’t take it lightly.” The Inquisitor responded; her face unreadable from where Hans stood.

“The red lyrium with steal your vengeance.” Samson snarled back to everyone’s surprise; when Hans looked back at him, the prisoner had suddenly pulled his head up, replying to their claims without hesitation. “You know what it does. Corypheus only delayed my corruption.” His voice was gravelly, and his tongue did not sound educated like Cullen’s or Josephine’s.

“Are you still loyal to that thing? He poisoned the Order, used them to kill thousands!” Cullen barked.

“Templars have always been used!” Samson sneered back at the Commander with a familiar rage. “How many were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned away their minds?”

There was a pause as a silence fell across the hall, the Commander and the man glowering at each other.

“Piss on it! I followed him so Templars could at least die at their best!” Samson exclaimed, “Same lie as the Chantry, The Prophet just isn’t as pretty.”

“I _found_ your people.” Adaar suddenly interjected. “They believed in you. Believed your cause was righteous.”

“Not your business, _Inquisitor_.” Samson replied just as quick.

Cullen scoffed, “Your friend Maddox was so loyal, he killed himself. For _you_.”

“They were always going to die. I saw what Corypheus was doing, so yes, I fed them more hope _instead_ of despair.” Came his response, “I made them believe their pain had purpose. Just like the Chantry does. Right, _Commander_?”

He paused yet again, the humour in his voice leaving him quickly, “It ended as well as anything else I’ve done. Corypheus would kill me on sight. I’ll tell your people what they want.” He looked back down at the ground, “Everything I cared about it destroyed.”

Silence fell across the hall, both the Inquisitor and the Commander staring down at the broken man. Whilst Hans could not see his face, he could even tell from his posture that he was dejected and defeated, nothing left in him wanted to fight against the Inquisition and their judgement. He had accepted his coming fate from the moment he was captured.

The atmosphere was cold as ice. Onlookers such as Hans exchanged puzzled looks, fighting the urge to talk whilst the Inquisitor continued to contemplate in silence. The Commander tried to meet eyes with the Herald, but she avoided away his searching looks as to make her own choice of the judgement rather than Cullen deciding his fate.

“Very well, Samson.” Lady Adaar sighed, sitting forward in her seat. “You will spend your remaining years serving the Inquisition. Cullen will be your handler. Perhaps he can get something useful out of you.”

A few murmurs and gasps were heard amongst the crowd, but Hans focused on the Commander as he snapped his eyes back to the floor in what he could assume was frustration.

“I doubt the Commander believes there’s anything worthy left in me,” Samson added, also facing the ground.

“You’re not wrong,” Cullen agreed, “But you served something greater than yourself once. Perhaps you can be made to remember that.”

The Inquisitor raised a hand to silence them both, “Samson, you can still be of use to good people,” she added, “What you know is less important than what you are. My arcanist will also study your resistance to red lyrium whilst in our service.”

Samson jeered, raising his head slightly to look up at the qunari woman, “Do as you will, Inquisitor. Your kind always does.”

Adaar sat back against her throne, signalling the guards beside Samson again with a wave of her hand.

With that, the trial was over.

Silence remained as the guards once again took hold of the General and turned him back out of the hall, the only sounds again being the chains rattling between his wrists as they walked out. The moment he left, the crowd resumed murmuring amongst themselves, some of them shocked with the light punishment against the General, whilst some praised the Inquisitor’s mercy and clever use of Samson as a possible resource. Hans simply stood quietly amid them, staring at the Inquisitor as she now spoke to the Commander stood next to her, perhaps discussing the interrogation he would be performing, or maybe a professional disagreement at her decision for all he knew.

Eventually, the Commander took a small bow to the Inquisitor and turned on his heel to leave the hall alongside the guards and the now separating crowd. Then, she turned and noticed Hans midst the remaining onlookers; she gave him a warm smile, gesturing him to join her over by the throne. Returning the smile, he complied and began trotting over to the qunari woman.

“Hello, my friend,” she beamed down at him. Despite her sitting down, she was still taller than him. “I saw you remained for the whole trial, I honestly thought with Cullen there it would have lasted much longer.”

“I think you made a wise decision with the General, Inquisitor,” he said, not even lying to fit in a compliment. “Although, I think the Commander would have preferred a more aggressive approach.”

She nodded in agreement, “Well, as you know this was a personal issue for him. But I did not want his _involvement_ with the prisoner to affect my treatment of him.”

“I understood Cullen knew him, but I did not know they were close?”

Adaar shook her head, no longer looking at the elf, “I do not believe they were close, but instead they worked together during the order. Cullen did not give much details, but they were friendly once. I think it’s more of a matter of Samson’s ‘corruption’ of the order which bothers him.”

Hans made a sound of understanding, “I don’t understand the Commander sometimes. He says he is no longer bound to the Templar order, but also defends its insanity and cruelty to mages.”

With a sigh, the Herald pushed herself up off the throne, walking in front of the Ambassador and back towards the hall’s entrance. She glanced back at Hans for a moment, inviting him to walk alongside her, to which he followed, “I agree with you, Ambassador, as a mage, it confuses me where his alliances lie. But I know he’s a good man, and you should know that too.”

Hans sighed, looking up at the towering woman as he realised, she was right. “I’ll admit, me and the Commander don’t always agree, I apologise if that gets in the way of the Inquisition’s cause sometimes.”

Adaar laughed, stopping at the steps leading to Skyhold’s courtyard and turning to the small elf, “Don’t concern yourself with it, there are stronger rivalries in the Inquisition, Arren. Have you ever been in a room with Vivienne and Sera? Those two wouldn’t get along even if they were the last creatures alive.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. Being around the Inquisitor always filled him with ease. Despite her height and intimidating features, she was quite the opposite of what people expected of qunaris or mages. The pair easily became friendly from the moment they met, and both with their admiration for magic and nature, a friendship was not difficult to maintain. But Hans sometimes felt embarrassed when he knows his needs could sometimes be difficult for others, especially with already having many rivalries with other members of the Inquisition. Cullen only being one of them.

“Herald, whilst still regarding this trial, there is something I need to ask of you.”

“It’s about the Temple of Mythal. I discovered yesterday that General Samson was involved with the Well of Sorrows. If he has any prior knowledge of the Well, I believe it could be useful to the Dalish.”

Adaar hummed in thought, “Well, whilst I have no quarrel with people questioning the General. I made Cullen his handler.” To that, Hans sighed, resting a hand on his hip and making a suggestive look at her, one that read, _must I again with him_? To that, she chuckled and shook her head, “But, I suppose I can inform him myself of you talking to him. Just try not to overstay your welcome with that.”

The elf responded with a grateful grin, “I do not plan to spend hours of my day with him, just a few questions in a single session should cover it just fine. But thank you for covering for me, Adaar, I greatly appreciate your help.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately, patting his shoulder with some force before turning to leave. “Good luck with your investigation, Ambassador,” she called back as she descended the steps, before disappearing as she entered Haven’s Rest.

With a sigh, the smile began to fall from Hans’ face. Looking towards the outside entrance to Skyhold’s prison, two guards emerged, likely returning from putting Samson back away in his cell. This time, this would be where he stays, _for his remaining years_, Adaar’s voice echoed in his head. He had plenty of time to question the prisoner.

-

Several days had passed since the General’s trial, and Skyhold began to turn its focus towards other matters. The entire base was chaotic with preparations; soldiers bustled in the courtyard as they practiced in the sparring ring, merchants crowded by the stables with stock for the army and the blacksmiths were hard at work outfitting the troops. Everyone knew the final fight against Corypheus was drawing near, and with it the Commander was surprisingly scarce, likely to be trying to squeeze any last information out of Samson before the fight.

Adaar had told Hans that the prisoner was not to be questioned further until Cullen deemed his own interrogation to be finished. It was frustrating to wait even longer before the elf could pursue his investigation, but he was not up for arguing with the ex-Templar, so he complied with the Inquisitor’s orders. Instead, he busied himself by observing the entrance to the dungeons and making mental notes when a guard used it.

He guessed Cullen’s interrogation happened within his own office, as he spotted Samson leaving the cells accompanied by several guards one morning; he did not mark his return to the cells until suppertime, which suggested to Hans that the questioning had taken place. That same evening, one of Cullen’s messengers dropped by Hans chambers to confirm his suspicions.

“Ambassador Arren. The Commander wanted to alert you that the interrogation of the prisoner, Samson, is over. You can use him for your own investigation now, if you so wish.”

Hans sighed with relief, “Thank you, please send him back my thanks. I will speak to him after I’ve spoken to the prisoner.” With a nod, the messenger scurried off down the hall.

The next morning, Hans awoke soon after dawn, eager for answers. He rushed about his chambers, cleaning his face and hair before dressing. As he gathered his notes from various reports, he took a quick glance in the mirror. He could almost convince himself he looked the part of the Dalish Ambassador; he was dressed into his white and copper garments provided by the Inquisition, his dark brown hair styled with traditional elven braids, his dark skin for once clean and bright in the morning light and his white Ghilan’nain vallaslin clear on his face.

Out past the courtyard, he made his slow descent into the castle’s holding cells, to which he was met with a vast and empty chamber. The room was dimly lit with lanterns as natural light poured in from the missing end of the wall at the far back of the chamber. A waterfall roared down past it outside and the chill mountain air hung about the area.

One guard stood before him, fully armoured with a bored look on her face before she realised, she had company.

“My lord!” she greeted him, slightly startled. “Good morning, are you here to see the prisoner?”

“Yes, I’m here to speak to General Samson.”

She gave him a nod of understanding, “General Samson is our only prisoner here, my lord. The Inquisitor has been quite merciful with her judgements. He’s just through the gap there and down on the left.”

It was then Hans noticed just how empty the prison was. With all the holding cells empty, the room looked creepily bare, and it almost seemed useless to keep a guard down here with only one prisoner.

“I should not be any more than an hour, I just want to ask him a few questions.”

“Right my lord. I’ll try and keep out of your way and give you some privacy.”

He bowed to her in quick thanks and proceeded ahead.

As he past the split between the two holding chambers, he turned towards the only occupied cell in the entire castle. The light barely touched this corner of the room, and the chill from the outside easily seeped its way into the area and under his clothes. But, even in the dark, Hans could just see the shadow of the man that lay within the cell. With a deep sigh, he spoke out to the darkness at the shadow.

“General Raleigh Samson?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up a lot longer than I expected! But I have big plans for the next one!
> 
> Please if you have any feedback for the story and my writing it is greatly welcomed! Thank you for your interest and check my Twitter for updates!


	3. The Man Named Samson

“General Raleigh Samson?”

Hans stood before the only occupied cell, its near entirety draped in darkness, the light inches away from the shadow of the man inside. Even though it was dark, the elf could see the man hunched over, his back against the cool stone wall, hugging his needs with his face jutted out from his shoulders, looking up at the ceiling in quiet thought. As an ex-templar, Hans perhaps would have thought him to be praying, but he knew the man was beyond that.

It was at least a minute before the man replied, but he did not move away from his position as he continued staring up at the wall. “What is it now? The Commander want me upstairs again for another _pleasant_ chat?”

“No, I am not the Commander or someone visiting on _behalf_ of the Commander.” Hans replied, stepping forward, slightly into the light. “I am Hans Arren, the Dalish Ambassador of the Inquisition, and I have a fe- “

“Dalish?” the man quickly interrupted, startling Arren slightly as he turned his face to look at him. He remained in shadow, but Hans could tell he himself was being judged through Samson’s eyes. “Surprised they’d let an elf be in such a position, let alone a _dalish_ elf.” He contemplated aloud, falling back against the wall. “Then again, they do have a qunari _mage_ as their leader. After that, you must be as common as a human next to her.”

Hans frowned, “I’d prefer it if you did not speak ill of the Herald. I am not here to speak about that, General Raleigh Samson, I am here to talk about-”

“Samson,” he replied firmly, his face snapping back towards Hans’ direction. “Just call me Samson, _elf_. No one called has and ever will call me Raleigh other than my mother.”

“General Samson-“

Suddenly, the man burst out from the shadows, the light finally meeting his face as he pressed his face to the bars of the cell. “_Just_. Samson.” He growled, “I’m hardly a general now. Corypheus would kill me given the chance after this.”

Hans held his breath as he saw Samson’s fully for the first time. First, he noticed he had been stripped of his lyrium armour, instead he was dressed in a ragged hooded outfit, accompanied with various leather strappings and pants, ideal for a prisoner. But, now being hardly a few metres away he could finally see the evidence of lyrium corruption on his visage. Prominent red veins had surfaced around his eyes and his neck, contrasting with his sickly white skin and almost striking bloodshot eyes. He had thick lips and patchy overgrown stubble and appeared thinner than he should be from the neck upwards. His nose was long and hooked, which framed his visible eye bags and thinning brown hair.

The pair stared at each other. There was a look of hopelessness and rage on his face, but Hans could only think how _unusual _the man looked, but also drastically unwell.

The man’s complexion softened, the rage suddenly leaving him for confusion, “What are you staring at?”

“I- Nothing.” Hans quickly responded, blinking a few times to break his stare. He cleared his throat, “I am here to talk about your involvement with Corypheus, _Samson_.”

The man scoffed, falling back on his rump. “_Corypheus_? Haven’t you heard enough of him from me? What more could you possibly get from me?”

“I understand Cullen has asked you plenty about Corypheus, but I am here for a much more specific reason, Samson.”

His eyebrow quirked in curiosity, “And what would that be, elf?”

Hans almost felt on the spot under the man’s harsh gaze; despite him sitting below the elf, he was intimidated. Trying to ignore the fear twisting in his gut, he peered down at the mess of notes in his hands. “I want to know your involvement with Corypheus at the Temple of Mythal, and what you meant when you said that you were the ‘Vessel’ for the Well of Sorrows.”

There was a moment of silence, and Samson’s curious look didn’t falter as he replied.

“What?”

Hans blinked back at him, “Your involvement with Corypheus at the Temple? What did you mean when you said you were the ‘Ves-?”

Samson raised a hand to silence him, quickly interrupting him, “No, **_what_** are you talking about?”

He could only look back in confusion at his question.

“Why would you want to know about that?” He asked in bafflement, “Wh- Why would that even matter? You _defeated_ the Elder One in that fight and you got the Well for yourselves! Why would _you_ want to know about that?”

“I want to know.”

Samson only looked more confused, frustration clearly building at the ludicrousness of the question. “Why?”

“I **need** to know.” Hans then said firmly, finally a sense of authority in his tone.

Finally, the man fell silent again, falling back against the wall. Hans could only stare back, keeping his breath in check as he tried not to show his anxiety. Minutes seemed to pass before either of them spoke.

“So… This is not an interrogation?” Samson suddenly asked, no longer looking at the elf. He now faced the wall opposite, his visage almost gentle as his rage left him. The light just touched the edges of his face, framing his sharp jaw and bowed nose in a slightly endearing way.

“No.” Hans replied, “I simply want to talk to you… About the Temple that is.”

Their gazes met yet again, and with a flick of his eyes, Samson gestured for the elf to join him on the floor. The stone was cobbled and cold from the mountain chill, yet Hans felt obliged to sit down beside the man. From the moment he ground touched him, the cold seeped through his clothes and up his spine, causing him to shiver. Despite the cold, he remained seated, cautiously watching Samson lean back against the wall in the corner of his eye.

“Why do you want to know about the Well of Sorrows? Doesn’t the Inquisition already possess it’s knowledge?” Samson asked first, once again taking charge of the questioning over Hans.

“I simply want to know about why you knew about it.” Hans replied firmly, “Perhaps that can help me understand what it was before it was… Taken by the Inquisition.” His jaw was clenched to stop his teeth chattering.

“Are you not the Dalish Ambassador?”

“Yes but- “.

Once again, the prisoner interrupted, this time changing the subject, “What does that job entail exactly? You represent the entire Dalish community? Or do you just study the Dalish?”

He tutted at the man’s tedious question, he could tell he was trying to prolong conversation with his irritable remarks, “I am the ambassador for the Dalish, and deal with all Dalish relations. As well as _being_ a Dalish elf.” The elf turned sharply towards the man, pointing to his forehead at his decorated white vallaslin.

Following Hans’ finger, Samson’s eyes trailed up and traced the lines of his tattoos. It was painfully slow before he replied. “Apologies, I didn’t notice your markings.”

Hans was beginning to get frustrated; he never expected the man to be this talkative, or even in high enough spirits to speak back at him. In this position, Samson seemed harmless, but that did not mean Hans’ could be careless around him.

Hans relaxed his hand again, not looking away this time as he sat back against the cold wall. “Now will you answer my question about the Well?”

“Depends, elf,” he replied, a sly smirk creeping up his face. “If you answer my question first. Why do you want to know from me if the Inquisition already possesses the Well?”

“I just want to know. You provide a different insight that we do not have yet.” Hans partially lied.

Samson nodded along mockingly, “Of course, no need to be honest with me or anything. If you get to the truth it doesn’t matter, right?”

Hans’ bit the inside of his mouth in frustration, holding back at scowl. Being spoken back to was becoming tedious, as was this entire conversation. “I’ll leave you alone if you answer the question, so why not just answer it?” he grimaced.

Another thin, coy smile was what he got. “What about my question?”

Hans narrowed his eyes, “What do you want?”

“I thought I asked you that first?” He chuckled back.

A glare begun to creep across the elf’s face. “You have a lot of nerve interrogating me, _General_.” Hans was almost pleased as Samson winced at the title. “Tell me why you’re being so difficult, what do you gain from all these questions?”

“A distraction.”

Samson was met with a quizzical look from Hans, not expecting such an answer.

There was silence for a moment, before Samson sighed and explained himself. “Look at where I am, elf. I am stuck here, the lowest point of your fortress, at the mercy of the Inquisition. And, I can’t get out of it no matter what I do from here. It’s not like anyone is going to become friendly with me.”

Hans was _not_ expecting him to say that. The Inquisition had no permanent prisoners before Samson, and Hans had never interacted with someone in his situation before now. But this was what he deserved, right? This man was a villain, from what he’s heard of him. To work with a creature like Corypheus and allow yourself to become corrupted by red lyrium was surely evidence enough. Yet, Hans could not swallow down this feeling of pity rising within him.

“I… You must understand, that this is your punishment, yes?” Hans could only reply.

Samson remained silent as he stared at the elf, hopeless.

“You… You have committed many crimes, against your country and morally. This your consequence, right?” he continued to say, his voice doubtful and wavering in the fear he would anger the prisoner.

“Yes,” he replied, “But, can I not at least pray that this is not my fate forever? Can I not regret my choices or learn from my actions? Is that not the point of punishment?”

Hans sighed, his hope of a clear answer of the Temple now out of his mind, “I have not put you in this position, I cannot answer you.”

“Well, what do you make of it?”

The elf paused, his eyes locking with Samson’s for a moment. He stopped to peer behind himself, spotting the guard taking a nap by the door, before looking back at the prisoner with his answer.

“My judgement is not the one that matters… But I suppose this is pure punishment, not to teach you or rehabilitate you, but to force a sense of suffering upon you that you have inflicted upon others.”

Samson’s eyes softened for a moment, suddenly sad as his grim reality was clear to him.

“Do you think I deserve to be here?” Samson suddenly asked.

Hans felt his heart almost leap into his mouth.

“Y-you worked with Corypheus.” He could only reply.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Any answer to this question may insult the man or the Inquisitor’s judgement of his consequences. From what he has heard, the man deserves such punishment, and he implores Adaar for using him as a resource instead of wasting his intelligence with a quick execution. Hans personally knows many people who have killed others, and mostly with reason, but Samson’s intent was malicious, and at the benefit of the enemy. Even if he pitied him, it could not be denied that he did a terrible thing.

“I do. I do believe you… deserve this punishment.”

If Samson was angry at his answer, his face didn’t show it. Instead, he simply sat back against the wall and turned away.

“I appreciate your honesty. Not many people here give me that.”

The man fell silent again, but this time Hans didn’t feel irritated, but shame. It was true that he believed he deserved his imprisonment, but he could not deny he felt sympathy for this man’s hopeless situation. That and he could feel a sense of intrigue at the man; to originally be working alongside the Champion, then to be the General of a darkspawn magister who wants to destroy the world, that must be a fascinating journey. How desperate must a man be to stoop to such a low level? Hans almsot had to stop himself before he started sounding like Varric with these theatrical accusations.

“Apologies Ambassador. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear the rambling of a miserable old traitor doomed to rot in prison.” Samson sighed, chuckling with pitiful amusement at the end of his sentence.

Hans hated the way his heart twanged with sympathy, he was only here to gain information and here he is acting pleasant with an enemy.

“I’ll admit, I did not expect this was where our conversation would lead,” Hans responded.

Samson only laughed at the elf’s comment, it was crackly and deep from a dry throat, but not unpleasant to hear. It was better than seeing those woeful, pleading eyes from the man.

“I do still want an answer to my question from before though, Samson. Would you care to answer now, or do you want to interrogate me more?”

The man’s laughter continued, but he answered this time. “I think you’ve entertained me enough, elf. I’ll answer your questions then.”

There was a sense of relief when Hans finally got what he came for and was pleasantly surprised that he remained compliant for the rest of his questioning. Unfortunately, the answers weren’t much revealing, other than what he expected. Corypheus was a magister, meaning his knowledge on Elvhen magic was greater than most humans, thus he knew of the Well of Sorrows to potentially be a gateway to replacing the Anchor or an alternate route to the Fade. Samson did not know much outside of what his leader told him, and whilst he provided an interesting insight to the Temple before its destruction, it still didn’t give a clearer picture.

“I’m probably the least qualified person in this entire fortress when it comes to elven magic.” Samson quipped as he watched Hans scratch down notes on his answers.

“I doubt that, you did use to be a templar. You at least know the dangers of magic, and probably the different types of it, right?” Hans said back, not looking up from his quill and paper.

Samson laughed, loud and obnoxiously, “Templars are mostly just taught to fear and deal with any type of magic, doesn’t matter what type. Especially the templars from Kirkwall.”

Hans allowed a breath of amusement to leave him, “I suppose you’re right. But I’m still happy to have any alternate perspectives.”

The man continued to watch as Hans finished writing his notes and reviewed them with a skim read before deciding he had all the information he could gain.

“Was that all you needed?” Samson asked upon seeing the elf’s writing hand stop.

Hans looked up from his lap, his eyes meeting the prisoner’s, who just stared back. Any time their eyes locked Hans feared he was being too intimate or revealing. Samson was just a person, but still an enemy, being too pleasant could make Hans look vulnerable. As he thought all this, he couldn’t help but blink away from the man’s gaze.

“For the most part, I’m done with questioning you if that’s what you want.”

Samson shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

With that one last thrum of sympathy getting to him, Hans stood up and bowed in thanks. But he then paused. “There actually might be… One more thing I wish to ask, not necessarily in the same subject as the Temple.”

Samson made a gesture of interest, a sort of agreement to ‘ask away’.

“How did you even get to work for Corypheus? I may not know much about you but from what I heard, it must have been an unusual path to go from Lowtown in Kirkwall to second-hand of a darkspawn magister.”

Hans watched as the man’s features paused in thought, looking away as if to consider his answer. This was not a simple question, so Hans suspected the answer might be just as complicated. The man’s eyes were unreadable as he stared forward at the wall opposite, idly fiddling with the chain around his ankle as he went silent in thought.

“I became desperate I suppose,” he finally replied, still looking away. “At the time, it seemed like an easier way to channel my anger about the world, about the order and the mage rebellion. About being forgotten in Lowtown.”

As he paused, Hans could only blink down at him as he anticipated the rest of his answer.

“I thought… If I could finally control something, if I could finally make some sort of difference in the world. Not mattering whether it was a good or bad thing, that it would be better. Better than being the victim of it. Corypheus gave me that option, it gave me that release I thought I needed, and I didn’t care about anything else because I had nothing to lose.”

As he finished, quiet once again returned between them.

The elf remained silent but felt his heart leap as Samson turned back to look up at him. He told himself he wanted the conversation to end, to run back up the dungeon steps and never return. He told himself not to look at the man in the eyes, but they were too intense to look away; intense with fury, with misery, with corruption and with excitement, and he could almost swear he saw them glower red in the dim light of the prison cell.

Hans was terrified yet intrigued by the man.

“Thank you, for answering my questions.”

Samson nodded, and to that Hans turned sharp on his heel to leave.

“Wait, a second Ambassador.” The man suddenly called out.

Complying, the elf stopped, and turned slightly to look back before passing the archway.

“I know this is a bold, and insane question. But, could you maybe, come back at some point and… Question me more?”

Hans couldn’t stop his brow from furrowing in confusion, “What?”

“You… Questioning me, could you return and… Do it again?”

Puzzlement crossed Hans’ entire features, turning to fully to face the man again. “You _want_ me to interrogate you more?”

Samson nodded, “This company I had today, you have spoken to me unlike anyone else here in the Inquisition has, Ambassador. Others see me as a monster or an experiment. You talk to me like I’m a person.”

Hans could only respond with bewildered silence, mouth agape as he stared at the man as if he was a lunatic.

“I’ll make it worth your time. I’ll give you information.” Samson continued to plead, his stern, intimidating front suddenly turning desperate.

“You are insane! I don’t trust these demands, Samson.” Hans retorted, gritting his teeth. “You’re a traitor, and you have become desperate because you can’t accept your punishment. I will not entertain this hopelessness anymore!”

Samson continued to stare ahead at the Ambassador, hands now gripping the iron bars as he looked up with despair. The sense of it did not suit the man one bit.

“Thank you again, for answering my questions, I will take my leave and ask you forget if you saw any hope of friendship in me, General Samson.” Hans said firmly, eyes diverting to the floor, avoiding those red, pleading eyes. With that, he walked away, taking big strides to bring him to the exit quicker.

The guard tried regarding him as he left, but it all became a blur as he ran back up the stairs into the courtyard. Well within the day now, Skyhold was bustling with soldiers, agents and servants alike, which all barely noticed him as he practically sprinted past to return to his chambers. Hans felt like he couldn’t breathe until the door was closed behind him.

He tried everything to shake the anxiety within him; he paced his room, splashing his face with water and tousled his hair in the mirror, staring at his reflection until he could no longer recognise himself in those white and golden clothes.

It almost helped, but he could still not forget those eyes. The intensity of every emotion in those red, glowering eyes. Samson’s fear felt real, his rage felt real, his _joy_ in Hans’ laughter felt real. It bore into his brain like a hot iron brand on cattle, and he had to shake it if he was to continue, it could be considered treason to the Inquisition if he continued talking to the man.

It was out of the question.

He continued to stare into his reflection, slowly fixing his hair and wiping the droplets of water off his face. After a while, Hans finally moved away, stumbling along to his office to try and gather then organise his notes from today. He put them atop the ones from the past week and allowed his eyes to idly skim the pages as he sorted them. Most of them were messy as he had written them down as he listened, but the top section was clear and neat as he had prepared the context for the notes before leaving his room that morning.

_‘Today might finally bare answers for me, as I have finally been given permission to question the prisoner._

_I will leave and descend to the only occupied cell in Skyhold and question him about his involvement with the Temple of Mythal and the Well of Sorrows. Now I will go talk to the man named Samson.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait everyone! I've been going through a lot recently and I've been tremendously busy with commissions and university. But! Now that this chapter is out of the way I can finally start working on it more!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I know this is not written the best as I am extremely rusty and also struggle a bit with fantasy but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I'd love to hear thoughts on how I can improve characterisation, as a lot of my opinions on characters reflect with how I write them (like Cullen lmao)!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
